The Call to War
by Youngling
Summary: All OC. An attempt to show the last few years of shadowhunter training through the eyes of someone who isn't very good at it. He tries to change. Events begin to unravel. First Fanfic ever. Sorry for the bad summary!
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1.

**[This is going to be pre-mortal instruments. Years before Valentine and the Uprising, and focus around an entirely new OC. This guy is sort of the opposite of anyone we've seen to be a shadowhunter in the series, but I figure every group has an outsider at some point. Just coz you're born to do something doesn't mean you pick it up right away. Anyways, I hope you enjoy, this is my first ever fan fic, so please review and let me know what you would like to see. :) thanks!]**

He could feel the air rush over his neck as he ducked a blow from his opponent. He dove over the boys outstretched leg, narrowly avoiding a strong kick. He landed safely, his surprise causing him to freeze for a moment in shock. He realised his mistake when he awoke blinking heavily only moments later.

Michael Youngblood, an average sixteen year old, too average for his liking, slowly got up. His dark hair stuck to his forehead with perspiration. He lasted seven minutes this week, which he knows is his personal best. However, he is already prepared for the onslaught the other students are surely preparing.

"..like he's a mundane or something. Honestly, it's pathetic really..."

He hears someone mutter, realising it has already begun, they just haven't found the best insult yet. Before, near the start of the year, he would have been angry or scared of their ruthless put downs, his emotions getting the better of him but now he tries not to care. He quickly shoved past the crowd of onlookers to get outside for a breath of fresh air.

He greets the night with a small sigh of relief, and unceremoniously falls onto the floor for a moments rest. Inside he can hear the next duo has begun their sparring match eagerly. As any other student in the Academy would, except him. _That is the problem_, he thought sadly, looking up at the stars, the demon wards seeming to magnify the light shining from them.

Lost in his own thoughts, he nearly missed a student he had rarely seen in class striding confidently up to the doors. He smiled as he noted Michael and his ungracious position. This sparked his interest as no student really smiled at him so calmly before, the others usually having some malicious intent. Before he could ask the student his name or even form a word the doors opened and three students appeared before him.

_Oh dear Angels no.._Michael thought numbly, seeing their faces. these three students were the main cause of his silent suffering throughout this year.

Previously, Michael had been home schooled by his father, who trained him as well as he could in languages, shadowhunter marks, horse riding, history and fighting skill. The last topic was a sore point with his father, as he realised his son was not improving regardless of how many hours he tried. Rather than admit defeat (and embarrassment) he decided to send Michael to the academy for training until he was eighteen. The year of his ascension into the ranks of shadowhunters. His first day was a nightmare worse than any demon...

[FLASHBACK]

_"Hello, I'm Michael, Michael Youngblood." He held out his hand to another student, who it seemed fair to say was slightly taller and muscular than Michael. He noted when the student raised an eyebrow at his outstretched hand, that the student was also an arrogant son of a- 'Still, any friends would help in these early days' he thought fairly. _

_"Youngblood? Never heard of them." The other student said with amusement audible in his voice. "Are they even an Idris family?" He said out loud to the other two students sitting nearby, who laughed louder than Michael felt the comment warranted._

_"Well..." He answered, "actually yes, we're from the south. My grandfather was in the battle of-" He was cut off by the student's loud 'tssk'._

_"Your Grandfather's probably dead. What've you done?" He asked, leaving Michael confused and offended._

_"Nothing of course, I'm a student, just like you..." His words trailed off as he saw the boy in front of him contort his face into one of fury. _

_"Are you saying MY family is the same blood as yours?" He yelled, causing Michael to jump back a step. Realising too late that he had fallen into a trap he tried to answer calmly._

_"I didn't mean to offend, I don't even know your name!"_

_A moment of silence followed in which the boy, and of course the other two students, like they were his left and right arm, stood up quickly. He looked down his nose at Michael and gave that annoying 'tssk' sound again._

_"Jackson FyreBorn. Remember that name." The cliché of the phrase making Michael hold back a smile until they left. After that introduction, things only got worse._

"What do you want Jackson?" Michael tried to keep the tension out of his voice but as ever, failed to do so. Jackson smiled at him in the predatory way he was used to. Michael silently prayed as they made no move towards him.

"We saw your fight before, and we were wondering... Do you think your a bastard?"

Michel looked up in anger and surprise, insulting his mother and his birth now? They continued to sink lower for their laughs.

"What are you talking about? Leave me alone." In his head his words were dismissive and authoritative, when spoken they sounded whinging and weak.

Jackson took a step closer. The glee on his face was clear, he could barely contain it. The sense of foreboding in the back of Michael's head increased like a witchlight.

"I just thought it might be a reason you know? You being half a mundie explains everything. You think your mum ever played away?"

Michael held his fights tight and counted down from ten quietly. He just wanted to be left alone but they wouldn't even give him loneliness, they had to take anything they could.

"At least you can try again next week. I'm sure you'll do much better..."

Michael froze, dreading the next words.

"You're fighting me next week."

With a laugh they left, all going inside to cheer the other fighters. Leaving Michael to flop back onto the grass in defeat, the crook of his arm over his eyes. He heard footsteps by his ear and started, sitting upright in surprise. To his relief it was not Jackson and the others, but the unfamiliar student from before. At least Michael guessed he was a student, he was wearing the same black gear with a white crest that all students of the Academy wore, his light brown hair seeming to catch the sun in its messy nest. The boys dark brown eyes seemed to smoulder angrily though the boys shoulders seemed relaxed.

"Kill the guy."

The short answer led to a much longer silence. Which Michael had to break.

"I'm sorry?"

"In the fight, absolutely destroy him, why let him carry on?"

Michael smiled in spite of himself, this guy seemed to have the right intentions but didn't realise the situation.

"It's complicated.. see-"

"It isn't complicated at all, he insults you, you stand up for yourself, he stops, you enjoy your life..."

The boy looked pointedly at Michael as if to say 'honestly, what's your excuse?' which aggravated him to the point that he opened his mouth.

"I'd bloody love to but like I said it's not that simple, for the Angel's sake do you think I like this? I mean who the hell are you anyway that you're giving me advice? I have no idea who you are!"

"I'm Julius Asperitas... the second. A bit of a mouth full so I ask people to call me 'Israfil', as good a nickname as any, doesn't remind me of my father either. It's the name of an angel never called upon in battle." His smile took the sting out of the arrogant comment and encouraged Michael to smile back. "I'm in my last year they just let me do my own thing now, said there's nothing much for me to learn from lessons so I don't usually have the chance to socialise."

Michaels memory was distracting him however, "Israfil... are you the student that went missing for two or three days and wandered back covered in demon blood?"

"Ah yes... two years ago, fond memories" Julius' eyes were smiling as he confessed to the story, glinting mischievously. He offered Michael a hand up, which he accepted and Julius turned to walk, Michael following instinctively. After a moments pause, "and your name is?"

"Oh I'm sorry, my names Michael Youngblood. It's my first year."

Julius nodded as if he suspected as much, and thought for a moment on how to phrase his next words.

"Your fighting that demonspawn next week, but let me help you over the next seven days, and I guarantee you will wipe the floor with him. What do you say?"

Even without Julius' strong will and eager expression there was only one answer that even entered Michaels mind. He felt his shoulders straighten as he felt his determination flood his concious mind, and thoughts of victory, and someone to talk too for a week sealed the deal. He held out his hand and Julius shook it with a smile.

"I say Yes."


	2. Chapter 2

**I forgot to put this on the previous chapter so I will correct the error now: I own nothing of the Mortal Instruments Trilogy, I am merely a fan! Thanks to biblioholic taking the time to read and review :) hope I do the possibilities justice.**

Chapter 2.

The next day began in a way that guaranteed change was round the corner. Michael was sleeping soundly when Julius strode into his room gleefully banging too large pans together extravagently, like he was announcing a King. Michael jumped up and fell into a tangled heap with a cry of surprise earning a sympathetic wince from his erstwhile mentor.

"I think we need to work on refining movement first of all."

Michael sat up, resting back on his hands not quite knowing how to take the intrusion. "What?" He answered groggily.

"I'm here to wake you up for your first lesson!" He replied in a voice usually reserved for talking to children.

"I don't mean to sound ungrateful or anything but.. how did you get into my room?" He was still half asleep and could not grasp what exactly was going on. It surprised him that someone could just walk into his room when he put a locking rune on the door every night.

That earned a smirk from Julius. "Lock picking is a few lessons ahead of where your at. Now let's start with the basics." This earned a quiet grumble from the dark haired student as he wrapped his bedding around him and stood up in one staggering attempt.

"Where are the pans from? Anyway don't we both have classes?" Michael couldn't give up his morning mood just yet.

"The kitchen, they didn't mind." The brunette replied slightly too innocently. "Besides, we don't have lessons today, I told you my schedules kind of free and I told your Tutor I was giving you some training and he nearly fainted with happiness."

Michael grunted in reply and headed for the shower. He was stopped by an apologetic Julius. "No time for a shower. I let you sleep in an extra ten minutes. Trust me, you aren't always going to have time to get ready before a fight." After a pause he added, "you'll need one afterwards."

He casually threw a blunted seraph blade to Michael without even a glance. As Michael caught it he looked up to see Julius already striding out of his room, leaving him to throw the nearest clothes on as quickly as possible to catch up. Michael was already dreading the session for two reasons, the first being the traditional training methods used at the academy. Any shadowhunter could heal themselves perfectly well with an iratze mark, and every student was expected to be prepared for the reality of combat, therefore the academy saw it fit to train students with real weapons that had been dulled and blunted. They still hurt. The memories of bad training sessions still haunted Michael as he followed Julius outside. The second reason his stomach lurched was that he had no desire to embarass himself in front of his new friend, who appeared to be quite a skilled fighter.

They walked out of the academy grounds and headed out to the nearby woods for privacy, for which he was extremely grateful. After a few moments Julius began the lesson.

"Try to break through my defense, begin whenever your ready."

He stood with his arms by his sides, almost casually. As the first attack came he did not even need to bring his blade up to defend, but simply stepped aside. Michael concentrated and tried again, but his swing went wide of his target and the blade buried itself in an old tree trunk.

"See, this is the main problem." Sighed Julius, "you're not trying to hurt me, never mind kill me. You need to really try to break down the opponents sense of security. Try again but really aim for me, stir it up, I'll be alright."

_He's smug, but he's right_, admitted Michael to himself, he attempted to see Julius as a series of targets. After a moment, he attacked again with a renewed vigour, feinting a downward strike to the shoulder but then ducking low and lunging towards the stomach. Julius leant back away from the feint, and had to move twice as fast to avoid the second attack. As he parried, he swung his own blade forward towards Michael's upper arm, causing him to roll away, spinning on his knee and cutting an arc behind him to make Julius back away.

They both paused, Michael grinning madly at Julius until he returned the expression.

"Okay, that was better, but come on there's a hell of a lot more to do. Stand up."

The next few hours flew by in a whirl of blades, spins and good advice, leaving Michael exhausted but nursing a small amount of pride at his own improvement. They stopped for several breaks, and shared a drink of water, discussing a move that Michael wanted to practise or a particular weapons advantages. Julius called an end to the session as the day turned into late afternoon, the sun dimming behind the treetops. The pair headed back to the academy, talking animatedly about the days events.

Jackson and his two lackeys were outside the main hall with several other students, about to go into a lesson.

"Ah there you are 'Badblood' (he hated that nickname), I hoped all morning you'd got some sense and given up, but here you are. Glutton for punishment."

Several students gave a disapproving glance at the comment but ignored him as always. Michael was used to the odd comments. What he was not used too, was Julius walking up to Jackson and slamming him against the wall by his collar.

With a smile that seemed scarier than a scowl he spoke quietly to Jackson. "I dare you to say that again." His voice seemed cheerful but his eyes were hard and cold. Jackson himself was frozen in disbelief, and the rest of the class seemed eager to watch the encounter play out naturally. One of Jackson's 'friends' angrily reached for his captor, and faster than the eye, Julius grabbed his thumb and twisted it till he was on the ground whimpering, his other hand still not leaving Jackson's collar.

Jackson's face was now white as a sheet and he seemed to be struggling to think of a response that would not end in a vicious assault. He was spared in the end by the bell being rung for the class to enter. Julius let him go roughly, disgust etched on his features as he saw the trio slide away, all muttering furiously, accusing each other of doing nothing to help.

Michael meanwhile remained in a quasi-state of shock. He looked from the door of the hall which was now closed, back to Julius who looked slightly disappointed. His ease with dispatching Fyreborn left him feeling ashamed of his own lack of confidence. He found himself thinking back to their conversation the previous night. "Israfil huh?"

He nodded softly. "Well... an apt name. But you really didn't have to do that."

His friend looked up with a sly smile growing on his lips. "In a few days, I certainly wont. You'll become a true shadowhunter soon enough. Then you wont need me to get back at bastards like him." He nodded at his own words, seeming content with his own vision of the future.

"Come on, let's get some food." He shrugged, putting an arm over Michael's shoulder and leading him to the cafeteria.

Michael still seemed rather shaken about the confrontation until a laugh escaped, and his expression became full of wonder.

"Did you see his face? That expression was priceless." His comment leading them both to laugh, their conversation relaxing once more.

**(Later that week)**

"I swear you should have seen him, like a whirlwind. He lunged..." Michael heard Julius talking to a group of students about their latest training session and tried not to blush. He had to thank Julius, or 'Israfil' as he wanted to be called ("It's what my friends call me", he'd said that first morning.)

He knew most of the story he was telling was entirely fictional. He might have gotten lucky once or twice in a practise bout, but he'd never really strained the older student in their fights. Thinking to himself, he knew he had clearly improved. Enough to feel something close to confidence about the fight in two days. Jackson Fyreborn on the other hand had been furious about the incident five days ago and was telling anyone who would listen that he would destroy Michael in the tournament.

Five days. It seemed so much longer, as Michael found himself gravitating towards Israfil from the first day they trained. He relied on him, found him to be a steady constant in his life, and with that knowledge he had flourished. He found himself fighting in a way he'd never attempted, the running and lifting his mentor pushed him into making him feel faster. A seraph blade was far less heavy than the steel weights he had to carry. He found his actions both in the practise ring and out becoming more confident and deliberate. All in this week that he had known Israfil.

Now the fight was looming closer, he had asked for a training session in the practise rooms rather than their usual haunt of the woods. Israfil had been against it at first, pointing out that if Jackson saw them, they would lose the element of surprise. Though he caved in after Michael pointed out that it could help unnerve Jackson after all the boasts he'd made about the upcoming confrontation. He could only hope he wasn't just being sinfully proud of his newfound skills. 

The pair circled each other carefully with small steps. A seraph blade in each hand, carefully analysing their opponents defenses. Israfil smirked with his eyes flickering to the rather sizable crowd around them. He winked at Michael and feinted an attack, causing Michael to take a step back and parry the non-existent strike. Looking sheepish he stepped forward, his face set with determination. He took a deep breath and lunged. Within two minutes it was all over.

Michael sat on the bench holding his arm steady as Israfil did the honours of drawing a healing mark. _I didn't lose by too much_, he thought, content with the outcome. He had landed several hits on Israfil, to the point that he also had needed healing after the match. To his knowledge, no one else had managed to touch him in practise, leaving him feeling very happy indeed.

"Sorry you lost." Israfil murmured to him, looking around the room at the partners sparring. Michael snorted and shook his head ruefully, "thanks, I was just done convincing myself I wasn't that bad."

"You weren't!" he insisted, sounding insulted at the comment. "Got in a hell of a good hit on my shoulder. That almost won it for you."

Michael smiled back at him, and they shook hands again, leaning back against the wall in exhaustion. "Did Jackson see it do you think?"

Israfil shook his head, "I didn't see him, but either way word spreads. He'll definately hear about it soon enough."

**Ok, I'm hoping to do the next chapter on the fight and the immediate aftermath, and following on from that will be a few months later nearer the end of the year and onwards. If you like, please review, let me know if this is pathetic or worth a glance? :) Again, hope you enjoy it.**


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